


I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

by Anonymous



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: AU, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Torture, It Get's Worse and Then It Get's Worse, M/M, Not Safe For Anyone, Object Penetration, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Beastiality, Threats of Gang Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jason meets the Devil inside Blackgate Penitentiary. His name is Deputy Warden Roman Sionis.





	I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissNaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/gifts).



> For MissNaya the greatest detective of porn

“Did I tell you, you could close your eyes?”

Jason squeezes his eyes shut harder. So tight he can nearly hear the straining muscles in his face, almost drowning out the cacophony of noise around him. Almost. It’s impossible not to. The jeers, the whistling, the name-calling, the raw burn of embarrassment on his, most likely, tomato-red cheeks. That’s, of course, ignoring the most blatantly humiliating noise of them all. The sloppy, wet slurping as Jason struggles not to gag on the baton currently fucking the back of his throat.

The baton slides from his mouth, absolutely soaked with spit. Then it cracks across Jason’s aching jaw. A white flash of hot pain blazes across his face, racing down his spine along the stinging welts still bleeding on his back. He hits the concrete with a pained wheeze. Opens his eyes. 

He’s lying on the blood-stained ground at the bottom of Cellblock 1-A in Blackgate Penitentiary. Three levels of cells on either side of the building with dozens of men clanging at the bars. Vicious and sadistic grins on their faces, glaring down at him with unrestrained glee. Even the guards that lean over the railing, relaxed, watch with interested, dark eyes. The warden, from the glass window of his office, cuts a dark silhouette, backlit by the harsh light of his desk lamp. Shadow stretching a long, black line across Jason’s bloody and naked form.

No one steps in to help him. It’s his punishment for defending himself by stabbing out the eye of his would-be attacker, Roland, now confined to the infirmary. Bastard deserved it. Jason expected retribution. But this? This is overkill.

Handcuffed, belt looped around his neck into some make-shift leash and collar, drooling on the floor. Jason Todd the “Mad Dog” of the Red Hood Gang, brought to pathetic, stuttering gasps within two hours at the hand of Blackgate’s staff. What the Falcones and Maronis would give for that information. They could have saved half of their gang from Jason’s bullets if they squealed to the police sooner. 

A boot, luxurious and Italian-made, too expensive for a C.O. salary, slams into his unprotected gut. Jason can’t trap the yell that wrenches free from his throat. Pain hardly describes the state of his body. Pure, paralyzing agony crashes down with the power of an ocean wave. It leaves him gasping and numb in its wake. Breathing becomes a chore. The men cheer and Jason does little more than stare up into the bright roof lights, sucking in shallow breaths through his nose. _Utter bullshit_.

Deputy Warden Roman Sionis leans over him, blocking out the light. Cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, dark hair slicked back and that near-permanent smirk on his lips. Jason’s heard rumors outside of Blackgate. A sleazeball who couldn’t be bribed—daddy had enough money to set his boy up for life—who had been kicked out of every BDSM club Gotham offered for his violent sadism. Jason thought little of some pig who got his rocks off by punching out fragile little subs. Hell, Jason’s sure he has a domestic violence charge somewhere in his records.

Turns out Roman was on a whole other level.

“When I give you an order, prag, you do it,” Roman says. “Say you understand.”

Jason flattens his mouth. Roman shakes his head and raises his leg up. The scream that tears out of Jason’s throat when Roman slams the heel of his foot down on Jason’s dick is animal-like desperate wailing. It cuts off half-way when Jason’s voice gives out. The pressure disappears and Jason rolls onto his back arching up immediately when torn open flesh from the early whipping make contact with the ground. The world is nothing but a haze of red and white. The rest of the inmates rattle the bars of their cages, hooting and hollering.

Glad that Roman’s given them entertainment for the night. Glad it’s not them. Glad that Jason, Crime Alley pretty Jason who has a list of enemies that nearly make up the entire Blackgate population, is the one they’ve watched Roman slowly take apart all night.

“Oh shut up, Jason,” Roman tuts and crouches down next to Jason’s writhing form. “You barely have a dick anyway. If you were a _real_ man that would have hurt a lot more. Cunts just aren’t as sensitive as a man’s cock.”

Roman lightly brushes a leather-gloved hand over Jason’s dick. It fucking burns. Jason groans and turns his head to press his hot cheek to the cool ground. Stop, just stop. A hand pushes his bangs off his forehead, running down the side of his face before pressing down against the belt looped around his throat. Jason’s breathing stutters. Roman grins and taps the spit-slick baton against Jason’s mouth. 

“Keep those pretty, baby blues open, Jason, or else I’ll give them to someone who’d actually use them. Like Doctor Napier.” 

Jason goes ice-cold. Dr. Napier with his needles and knives and his fractured psyche and his malicious grin. Jason heard he went insane after cutting his stillborn son from his fading wife’s stomach after a failed hit by the Cosa Nostra. Blackgate, after the mountains of malpractice suits that came through after his breakdown, was the only place that sought to hire him. Jason limps now, probably will forever, after his last “wellness check.” 

“Tell me you’ll keep them open.” 

“I will,” Jason says immediately. “I swear.”

“I will what?” Roman tugs at the belt.

Jason whispers, hoarse and rough. “I will, _sir_.”

Roman drops the belt and kicks Jason’s thighs apart, pressing the baton against his tight and dry hole.

“You don’t deserve my cock, prag,” Roman pushes the thick head of the baton further against Jason, just enough so the skin starts to give. Jason tenses, clenching down unconsciously but Roman pushes harder. “But I’ll give you my baton if you beg nice enough.”

Jason shudders and breathes out through his nose. The inmates around them scream and shout, pleading with Roman to just “fuck the little bitch open” already. Jason hates all of them. Bottom-feeding scum who’d see their own grandmother in Jason’s place under Roman’s boot if it meant saving their own skin. Vile and pathetic cowards. Jason knows this because he’d do the exact same thing. Anything if it meant not being here. In the limelight of Blackgate’s own personal peep show. 

Roman’s foot presses against Jason’s limp and abused cock just enough to make Jason squirm. The words rush out of Jason’s mouth.

“ _Oh god_ , please, Roman, sir, _sir_ , please fuck me, _please_ , I need it.” It’s disgusting. Jason wants to hold Roman’s stupid face against a hot poker. Melt all that skin off and then fuck his throat raw with his own baton.

Roman leans down. A cloud of cigarette smoke blowing through his nose and into Jason’s face. It stings his eyes. “What do you say boys? Should I?"

“Wreck that little ass!”

“Fuck him, _fuck him_!”

“Doesn’t deserve it, that whiny little bitch.”

Everything else is lost in a sea of noise. Roman cups his other hand to his ear as he listens, watching Jason. “That doesn’t sound unanimous to me. Maybe I should call in a friend to soften you up a little more?”

Roman nods his head towards the cell directly in front of them. The man in there is the size of a cottage, arms budging with thick muscles and intense eyes glowering at him underneath thick brows. Roman’s own well-trained dog, marked with the gold-plated chain with the R.S. symbol engraved over and over and over again on the links. The inmate, sitting down, stands up when Roman glances at him. A monstrously-sized tent already growing in his prison slacks.Jason would rather take the baton.

He sobs, genuinely this time. 

“ _Please, please_ , Roman, sir, please fuck me with your baton. _Please_. You were right, I don’t deserve it, I don’t, please have mercy _oh god_.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Roman coos and rests his thumb against Jason’s lower lip. “That’s how you do it.”

Roman moves his hand and slips the cigarette from his lips, taking one last deep drag. Then puts out the burning end on Jason’s cheek.

He can’t even yell. He jumps, laughably startled Roman would do that, before a whine, high and almost betrayed slips through his mouth. Then the pain follows and Jason thrashes but Roman’s knee pins his chest down and he digs the cigarette in harder.

Roman takes that moment, while Jason’s distracted, to force the baton partway into his unaware body. 

It’s overwhelming, like being shoved off the edge of one of Gotham’s skyscrapers. Adrenaline not yet taking hold as anxiety edging on the brink of despair swallows him whole. The crystal-clear image of splattering into a bloody mess on the sidewalk, bones snapping as brittle as twigs from the impact. Devoid of logical thought and feeling. Jason can nearly see his own eyes reflected in Roman’s eyes, pupils widening until there is nothing but a faint ring of hysterical blue.

Roman rolls the baton and fiery pain sings through his veins, cresting as if he were impaled on the end of a molten sword. He can barely feel his cheek anymore.

There’s this loud, pitiful keening, like that of an abandoned dog watching its family drive away that drowns out the men in the prison. Maybe they’ve all stopped speaking, trying to find the source of the keening too. Roman shushes him, cigarette forgotten, petting his hair back. _That’s me. It’s me._

“Bear down, sweetheart, there’ll be a lot less blood if you bear down.”

Jason shakes his head. He can’t, oh god he can’t. It’s too much, it’s too big. Something must have torn. It’s excruciating, splitting him open wide. Helpless and trapped beneath Roman’s weight as he pushes it deeper and deeper inside. Inch by agonizing inch. His body’s not big enough to take the entire length of it. It’s too big. _He can’t, oh god he can’t._

“Listen to you whine,” Roman marvels and, mercifully starts to drag the baton back. Out of him and hopefully away. “Mad Dog Todd, that’s what they called you out there didn’t they? You sure sound like one. Hey, we’ve got some nice mutts in the kennels. Maybe that’s all you need, huh? Get fucked by own of your own kind.”

Jason shakes his head. Shallow, stuttering breaths are making him light-headed and fuzzy at the corners. His heart is beating too fast to take a deep enough breath. He can’t focus, can barely keep Roman in his sight, eyes drifting to the roof, away from the movement of his shoulder. Fearful of his gazed being pulled down to watch Roman fuck him with his baton.

“You sure?” Roman tilts his head and pushes the baton back in. “I think you’d like it.”

“N-No,” Jason moans. Shakes his head too. Roman frowns.

“You calling me a liar?”

“No,” Roman jabs the baton forward and Jason arches his back and howls. “N-No, sir! Oh fuck, _oh fuck_ , I’m not. I swear I’m not.”

Something inside him gives. Maybe tears? Jason doesn’t know. Everything hurts. His cheek, his back, his neck, his hips, what’s one more thing on top of it all? There’s probably blood. Roman’s able to move the baton a lot more freely inside him now than before. The burn on his cheek aches suddenly and Roman laughs.

“What a fucking crybaby.” A thumb caresses his face. Gentle, _tenderly_. It spooks Jason more than Roman’s threat to take him to Napier. He flinches away and Roman grabs his cheek and keeps him still. “With your looks, honey, I assume you’ve had your cunt fucked a lot harder than this but you’re crying like a virgin on her wedding night. You just a little whiny bitch or did you save yourself for a nice man like me to pop that cherry of yours, baby?”

Jason doesn’t speak. Can’t speak in anything besides whimpers and sobs at this point. Roman doesn’t seem to want or expect an answer. He pushes the baton further inside. 

“Tell you what, baby, if you tell everyone you’re my bitch I’ll give you what you want, how does that sound?”

 _It’s a lie_ , it’s a lie don’t be stupid. Jason knows, he knows Roman. There’s nothing Jason wants that Roman can give him. _But_ , but the louder, traitorous part of his brain sings. The one that wants this to just end already. Beg for Roman to just stop and drag him back to his cell pleads with him. Just give him what he wants it’s so easy. What does he have left to lose? His pride? It was gone the moment Roman forced him to strip in front of the cell block. His dignity? Flown the coop since he entered Blackgate. All he had left was his sanity. In a place like Blackgate it wouldn’t take long for that to abandoned him too.

“I’m your bitch.”

Roman sighs and backhands him. “Get it right, prag.”

“I’m your bitch, sir,” Jason says, louder. Loud enough that his voice echoes down the cement walls that even their warden, Bolton, can hear him from behind the bullet-proof glass window in his office.

“Good boy,” Roman ruffles his hair and stands up, leaving his baton stuck inside him.

Jason’s heart stutters. “W-Wait-“

“I said I’d give you what you wanted you needy whore,” Roman snaps as he straightens up and unbuckles his pants. He pulls his red, twitching cock out of his pants. “You’re lucky I’m so fucking generous.”

Roman strokes himself a few times, quick and economical. Already so close to the edge, he comes suddenly, covering Jason’s chest and chin with hot ropes of his cum. Jason lies there, uselessly tied, while the men stare down at his broken, cum-covered body. Jason ducks his head, shame consuming him and making his eyes sting with a fresh wave of tears.

“That’s a good look for you. You belong in Blackgate’s yearly calendar like this,” Roman grins and leans down. Trails a finger through the remnants of his cum on Jason’s chin and stuffs it into his mouth. Jason gags and turns his head, but Roman forces him still. His stomach recoils at the salty taste. “Have fun dragging yourself back to your cage, dog, I’d hate to imagine what’ll happen to you if you’re still like this when dinner call comes in an hour.”

Jason stiffens, glances up to his open cell on the third level and back to Roman’s amused face. Roman pats his cheek and stands up. Leaves him there still fucked full of his baton, handcuffed and collared at the bottom of the cellblock. The center of a hundred pairs of glaring eyes.

When he screams no sound comes out.


End file.
